


Soft Stars That Shine at Night

by springair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Drastoria, F/M, Family Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Illness, Post-War, Seasons, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springair/pseuds/springair
Summary: As Draco fell asleep to the sound of his wife and son breathing lightly beside him, he realised that he knew exactly what it meant to adore someone so much, to be so deeply in love with them, that he’d give up everything for them to be happy.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Scorpius Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Scorpius Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Soft Stars That Shine at Night

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> This is the first Harry Potter fic that I’ve finished, although I have countless drafts with little snippets of writing. I utterly fell in love with the series during lockdown this year and couldn’t help myself. I also fell a bit in love with Draco. And Scorpius. So, have some Malfoy family fluff!
> 
> No archive warnings apply, but this is canon-compliant, so you know how the story goes.
> 
> To all my trans friends, you are valid and I love you.
> 
> Title taken from the poem "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

One late, snowy, winter evening, Draco and Astoria were sitting in front of the roaring fire in one of Malfoy Manor’s several drawing rooms when Astoria commented “Your hair is getting long, my love.”

Draco sighed from his position in Astoria’s lap when she ran a slender hand through his white-blonde hair, and murmured noncommittally. He had a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ open at a page on slow-acting poisons, and was reading about a particularly nasty one that slowly sapped magical power from whoever consumed it until they were too weak to stand. Eventually, the witch or wizard unfortunate enough to drink the poison would slip into a coma and pass away at any time between a week and a year. He wondered how easy it would be for him to create some form of antidote to the poison. If, perhaps, said antidote could be applied to other ailments that had the same sort of basic principle, like a curse, or say, blood maledictions and if–

The book was plucked from his hands and tossed across the room.

“ _Excuse_ me, I was reading that,” he objected haughtily, sitting up so he could turn and face his wife, who was dressed in a loose set of silver robes. “And I’ll have you know that book is–”

Astoria rolled her eyes at him with a gentle smile on her heart-shaped lips. “I know. Antique, first edition, practically a family heirloom.” Draco had told her many, _many,_ times she shouldn’t throw around things like that, but she seemed to enjoy teasing him by _defiling his property._ Property that _was_ partly hers now too. And he did enjoy how her face looked when she smiled in that teasing way; light and happy, as if there was nothing else she’d rather be doing than making fun of Draco. Maybe he was fine with that.

“We’ll make a Malfoy of you yet,” he said in reply and she snorted.

“Your father would keel over if he heard that,” she told him, and didn’t he know it. Sometimes he felt like including it in his letters to him just to tick him off. The only thing holding him back was Mother’s disapproval. “Besides, I already have your name. It’d be terribly tedious to have to do _all_ of that paperwork again. I think I’ll keep you.”

“I’d quite like that.” Draco smiled at her, the smile he saved for when it was only the two of them, and leaned in to kiss her. He frowned when she put her hand on his chest to hold him back.

“You stopped reading five minutes ago,” Astoria stated, expression accusing. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing important,” he lied.

“ _Draco,”_ Astoria warned.

Giving her a guilty look, he wandlessly (Astoria took a short breath in at that, and in other conversations he’d smirk at her – he usually found himself thankful for the long periods he locked himself inside his room during the Dark Lord’s occupation whenever she showed appreciation for his wandless magic) summoned the book back from where it landed under one of the many tables in the drawing room. Flicking through the pages slowly, he passed it over to her and looked away.

Draco stared into the oranges, yellows, and reds of the fire, vision of the dancing flames going blurry as he listened to the way it crackled. It wasn’t as if they hadn't spoken about curing her illness before, but Draco _knew_ she hated seeing him get all worked up about it. He couldn’t help it, despite her telling him all the time that there was nothing he could do. It didn’t make the feeling of uselessness any less painful.

After all the hurt Draco had caused, he had the overwhelming urge to _help._ And if he couldn’t even help his own wife, what good was he?

On the night Draco proposed to Astoria in Paris, they lay in bed in each other’s arms as Astoria spoke about the blood malediction she’d inherited from her ancestor. Draco had his chin on top of her head, resting on his chest, and rubbed soothing patterns down her back while she’d cried tears that made his heart ache with a longing to just make everything _okay_. She spoke through her tears about how she knew it was unlikely she’d live to forty, that even by thirty she’d be weak, and how at twenty she'd felt some of her magic slipping away from her. By the time Astoria had calmed down slightly, Draco was crying too, hot tears streaming down his face and dampening Astoria’s chestnut hair, because Astoria would never get to grow old, and he’d grow old _without her_ , and at that moment he couldn’t think of anything worse. He would be alone, if he didn’t have her, even with his Mother visiting occasionally — his father never made the effort. Painfully and frightfully alone.

“I love you,” he’d whispered into her ear after laying for a little while with their arms wrapped around each other. He’d moved to playing with her hair and her eyes had begun to droop. Astoria had made some half-awake comment about how braiding her sister’s hair used to calm her down, and wished Draco’s was longer so she could braid his. Before she’d passed out, she’d mumbled a faint “love you.”

He hadn’t cut his hair since.

A hand on his thigh broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to see Astoria gazing at him so intently it was as if she could see all of his thoughts and feelings laid out on a silver platter. Astoria’s gaze never failed to strip him down to his core. One of the many things Draco adored about her was how intelligent she was, but he almost wished she weren’t so she wouldn’t have known right away what he was thinking. She always did. Her soft brown eyes were filled with tears and they spoke volumes of what _she_ felt; longing for a life they wouldn’t have, sadness for the one she’d lose too soon, and heartache for the one Draco would have to live without her.

Astoria cupped Draco’s cheek tenderly, and in that moment, he decided he loved her far too much.

“Even as brilliant as you are, you can’t cure my illness, Draco,” she said, smiling sadly, and he knew, _Merlin_ , he knew, but he wanted to do something so badly it hurt. There was so much more he could do if he was only better, he knew that, too. What if he was more talented at potioneering? What if he had completed his NEWTs and trained to be a healer? Or a curse breaker? An Unspeakable? What if he just wasn’t trying hard enough?

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. Sighed. Looked away. "I'm sorry, I just–"

“It's okay. But you can’t blame yourself,” Astoria said sternly — again, like she could see right through him — but not without affection. Deep in his chest, he ached. "You do enough just waking up with me every morning."

Draco took in a deep, shuddering breath. He _couldn’t_ start crying now because if he did he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. “I wish I could do more. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Astoria–“ his voice broke, _shit_ “–I can’t bear the thought of losing you.” He meant every word; he didn’t know where or what he’d be without her. Alone? Depressed? Angry? More like Father, perhaps, drinking extortionate elf wine in the South of France and bossing about poor house elves?

Astoria frowned at him and took his hand in her free one. “Don’t think about it, then.” She brushed gently over his knuckles several times, then lifted his hand to kiss it. His resolve broke. A choked sob escaped him. Astoria began to cry too, wrapping him up in her arms and whispering watery reassurances into his ear. He buried his face into her neck, inhaling the sweet smell of her flowery perfume as she thread her fingers through his shoulder length hair. He was so grateful for her, and how someone like him could end up with someone so _good_ he still didn’t understand. Sometimes he wondered if one day he’d wake up alone, without Astoria curled up next to him, eighteen again, because it was all some messed up fantasy his brain made up for him. More often than not he thought about how there would be a day he’d be alone in their sizable bed, and as that thought floated to the front of his mind, he gasped and held her tighter.

Ten minutes later, they were cuddled up on the chaise — Astoria leaning against one end with Draco laying between her legs. The book had been abandoned on the ground somewhere and Draco could _not_ care any less. A log fell into the dying fire, sending embers flying.

Astoria combed her hand through his hair, scratching his scalp and making Draco shiver. She hummed to herself, before asking “Can I braid your hair?”

Draco thought of Paris. “Please.”

There wasn’t a lot for her to work with yet, and Draco knew there were charms he could use to make it grow faster, but he never thought they made it look half as nice as it did when it grew naturally. His hair looked good long — probably a result of the Malfoy genes — and although it meant more effort in the shower, Draco liked the feel of it.

 _Especially_ when Astoria played with it.

Astoria conjured a brush and began to run it through his hair, dividing it into three sections in a practiced manner that made it evident she’d done this several times before. In just a minute, she’d fashioned his hair into a simple braid tied with a small black bow. Astoria held up a small mirror so he could see for himself; and it instantly reminded him of Father. Draco concluded he looked far better than his father and told Astoria such.

“I’d have to agree,” she laughed. Draco felt her press a chaste kiss to the back of his neck, and warmth spread throughout his body from where her lips met his skin.

 _Salazar_ , _I love her_ , he thought, turning around to capture her mouth in a deep kiss. Astoria made a soft noise, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting, and he swallowed it down, chasing for another. His tongue slipped into her mouth easily, sliding against her own, an incomparable feeling of bliss dancing within him. All he could taste was _her_ ; the tea she liked to drink after dinner, the chocolates they kept in a small dish on the coffee table, and something fruity that was so distinctly _Astoria._ If only the world saw how much of a sap he was. She tugged gently at his braid and Draco almost-embarrassingly _whined_ at the back of his throat, leaning into her mouth.

Astoria pulled away first; her cheeks were flushed. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Draco could only think about how beautiful she was — that small feeling of happiness that _he_ made her blush like that rising up in him — and moved to kiss at the spot under her ear she liked most, sucking gently at the skin. “Hmm?”

“I’m serious!” Astoria laughed at him breathlessly and pushed him away. He smiled at her and nodded to encourage her to go on. Astoria closed her eyes to calm her breathing; he knew her well enough to recognise that if she looked at him she’d keep laughing, and it was the most endearing thing watching her composure slip away in a fit of giggles. She cleared her throat, looking upwards. “It’s to do with what we were talking about at breakfast yesterday.”

Draco stilled.

(Breakfast yesterday had meant milling about sleepily, watching Astoria attempt to make pancakes by herself from a muggle cookbook as the house elves looked on in horror. After ruining her second batch, she gave up — with sighs of relief from all of the elves in the kitchen — and they resorted to having toast, berries, porridge and tea while reading the morning post.

Which just so happened to include a _lovely_ letter from his father badgering him about when he was going to produce an heir. Astoria had noticed his foul expression immediately and _Accio_ -ed the letter from across the table, read it, then summoned an elf to file it away with all his other personal correspondence. To say they talked wasn't entirely accurate, but the principle stood.)

His words came out in an anxiety riddled jumble; “You don’t have to– He hasn’t said anything else, has he? Because–“

“ _Draco.”_ Her tone was fond as she met his eyes. “It’s not because of your father. I’ve been thinking, and–“

“I really meant it, Astoria. I don’t care what he thinks, we don’t need to do anything that you don’t want to. I’ve told him before that your health and happiness is my top priority and–“

He was quieted by her kissing him hard on the lips. There were less pleasant ways of being silenced, he mused to himself.

Astoria pulled away and laughed at him. "Salazar, do you _ever_ shut up? I’m trying to tell you that I _want_ to have a baby, Draco.” Draco’s breath caught in his throat. “With you. For us. Not for your father or for my parents, not for any of that pureblood bullshit. Just us." Hope flickered in his chest, and he almost couldn’t believe she was saying it. _Merlin’s beard._

“Are– Are you sure?” he stuttered out helplessly. A _baby._ His baby. _Their_ baby.

Once again Astoria took his hands in hers and nodded. His heart swelled as though it might burst with the love he felt for her. “Absolutely positive.”

A few months later, Draco found himself brewing in his at-home potions lab when Astoria walked in with a cup of tea and a smile on her face. Her bump was now quite visible, and Draco got a flood of joy from seeing how much their baby had grown. Astoria was clearly having one of her good days — sometimes, it was difficult for her to move around with how much energy a baby sapped from her — and that made Draco even happier.

“Good afternoon,” she sang, placing the mug on Draco’s desk, on a little coaster that shouted at him if his drink was about to go cold. A present from Astoria on Valentine’s Day, as recommended — Draco would probably say begged for, so he wouldn’t leave cold cups of tea everywhere — by the houselves. She bent down to peck him on the lips, but he grabbed her wrist before she could back away, stealing her lips in a proper kiss. “Work going well?” she hummed against his mouth.

Draco drew back and grinned, placing his hands on her swollen stomach. “It’s finished.”

Astoria’s eyes grew wide, flicking over to the bubbling iron cauldron. “Really? Can I..?” He nodded at her, thrilled from her excitement, and summoned a glass vial from the rack he had on his workbench. Draco dipped the vial into the cauldron, filling it with an opaque liquid slightly thicker than water. Astoria took it in her hand and twirled it around.

“Drink that, and your abdomen will glow either silver or gold. Give it five minutes. It’s perfectly safe, I promise,” he reassured, kissing the spot on Astoria’s belly.

“I know. I trust you.” After knocking back the potion, she bit her lips that were already curving into a smile. Astoria reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and simply looked at him for a while.

“Good?” he asked.

“Yes. We’re really doing this.”

“We are.”

”I love you.”

Astoria’s stomach glowed a faint silver. Draco’s eyes welled up with tears, ones that already spilled over in Astoria’s.

”I love you, both of you, so much.” He wiped at his eyes and laughed, a happy sound, one that Astoria joins in with. “A son.”

“ _Our_ son.” Astoria’s grin could be heard in her voice.

“ _Merlin,_ Astoria!” Draco jumped from his chair and scooped her up in a hug, mindful of their baby boy, spinning her around while she squealed and shouted half-heartedly to be put down. The coaster yelled unheard in the background.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born just as the last leaves of autumn fell from the trees in the Manor estate, the picture of his father. As Draco sat on Astoria’s beside while she cradled their little boy, he yearned to protect them both from all the bad things that were inevitable in life. Scorpius looked at his mother with wide, innocent eyes, eyes that couldn’t see how tired she looked. How much bringing him into the world took out of her.

Draco saw, but Draco also saw how much bringing him into the world _gave_ to her. How she had a different glow about her, despite her paler-than-usual complexion. How happy it really made her; that they had something, someone, together, that was theirs and only theirs.

They promised each other that Scorpius wouldn’t be raised like they were; full of vile hatred and self-righteousness, spoiled to the point of near-ruin. Draco made a silent promise to himself to not let anyone hurt his family — just the three of them — so long as he lived.

⁎⁺˳✧༚

A knock came on Draco and Astoria's bedroom door one mild spring evening; Astoria paused in her brushing of Draco's hair, now down to below his shoulder blades, to call out a "yes?" The heavy door creaked open to reveal their son Scorpius standing in the crack, cradling his stuffed dragon and fidgeting.

Draco could tell almost immediately from his body language that he had another nightmare. They happened far more often than Draco and Astoria would have liked, but Draco got them too, albeit for different reasons than his five year old child’s. "Come in and shut the door, Scorpius," he called out, and his son dutifully followed and shuffled over to their bedside. Scorpius looked at his mother with wide eyes when he saw the brush and ribbon in her hand, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

"Were you braiding daddy’s hair, mummy?" Scorpius asked, like he always did, and Draco thought that he'd do anything for his son if he asked with that _adorably_ pure voice. His son made him go all soft, something Astoria teased him for (when she was entirely guilty of the same) but he was just too wholesome. Nothing at all like Draco was as a child; even as a five year old he was bossy and spoilt.

"Yes, I was, angel," Astoria said. "Want to watch?"

Scorpius (expectantly) nodded enthusiastically. Draco reached over to lift him up onto their bed, his dragon held tightly under his elbow, and settled him on Astoria's lap so he could watch her braid.

After he came through to their room for the first time, Scorpius was entranced by watching their nighttime routine; it seemed to calm him down as much as doing it calmed Astoria. She’d braided Draco’s hair every morning and every night before bed since the first time she did it, and it seemed to help her relax, too.

Astoria hummed a lullaby as she braided, one Draco barely remembered from his own childhood, something about stars and moons that his mother would sing to him. It took only a little longer than normal with a child on her lap, but Draco’s eyes were dropping when Scorpius spoke up again.

“Mummy? Could you braid my hair, too?”

Astoria finished off tying the bow in Draco’s hair, and he turned around to see his son staring up at her. Scorpius decided a year or so ago that he “wanted to have hair like daddy” and hadn’t had it cut in months. It hung down to his shoulders neatly and glowed in the soft candlelight. Draco loved it.

”Hmm.” She toyed with a lock of his white-blonde hair. “Maybe not like your father’s, but I’ll see what I can do. Come lie down with us.”

The three of them curled up under the covers, Scorpius in the middle and Draco and Astoria either side of him as Astoria fashioned a braid out of a few locks of his hair. It didn’t take long for Scorpius’ breaths to even out, falling asleep again, his tiny arms curled around his stuffed dragon.

Draco pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Our little star,” he whispered, to which Astoria smiled widely at him.

She reached over the sleeping child to cup his cheek, softly stroking his face. ”You’re my brightest star, Draco.”

For once, Draco didn’t let his mind wander to the reality of losing this, and savoured the moment for what it was.

“And I love you to the moon and back.”

She raised a teasing eyebrow. “Only that far?”

” _Goodnight,_ Astoria.”

He got a pinch to his cheek.

”Goodnight, Draco.”

As Draco fell asleep to the sound of his wife and son breathing lightly beside him, he realised that he knew exactly what it meant to adore someone so much, to be so deeply in love with them, that he’d give up everything for them to be happy.

⁎⁺˳✧༚

The summer was stiflingly hot, and Draco shifted uncomfortably as Astoria fixed his collar. He reached up a hand to pull at it again, and she batted it away, pouting irritably. A sigh escaped Draco’s lips.

“It’s just dinner with my mother, Astoria,” he told her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Astoria smoothed her hands over the front of his suit. “I _know_ , but you hardly see her these days. You have to make a good impression, or something.” She caught Draco’s eye and they both laughed. He couldn’t give a damn about his mother’s impressions of him anymore, and she knew it.

Snaking his arms around her waist, he dipped his mouth close to her ear to whisper, “You just like me in this suit.”

Warmth pooled in his stomach when she murmured “I like you better out of it.” Smouldering brown eyes stared into his, and Draco wondered how his mother would react if he sent her an express owl to cancel their booking on account of his libido.

The moment was gone with a knock at the door and Draco rolled his eyes, huffing as Astoria pecked his jaw.

“Who is it?” Astoria called, mostly for her own amusement and partly to allow Draco time to compose himself.

“ _Mum_ …” came Scorpius’ exasperated voice from the other side of the door. Draco snorted and opened the door with a flick of his wrist. Scorpius stumbled through the doorway slightly but righted himself immediately. His hair had been cut short, in the sort-of preppy hairstyle Draco had during his sixth year, except without the copious amounts of hair-altering charms slicking it back. Scorpius’ hair was messier, more wavy like his mother’s, and it suited him extremely well. Taking one brief look at Draco and his suit, his son’s eyes flickered over to Astoria.

Draco quirked an eyebrow, looking at Astoria too. “What?”

The corner of his wife’s mouth turned up. “Well, I told Scorp you were going out tonight. Lately, I’ve been teaching him how to braid–”

“No.”

“Dad! You don’t even know what she’s going to say yet!”

“ _Still_ no.”

Arms wound around his midriff and Astoria’s nose nuzzled his neck. “Come on, _Dad_ , please?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but was almost winded by an armful of Scorpius before he could say anything. “ _Please_ , Dad! I’ve been practicing with Mum and she says I’m really good!” Puppy crup eyes deployed, Scorpius looked at him like Draco denying him a third time would break his heart. Arse. At ten years old, it probably would.

“Oh Salazar, _okay,_ you two.” Without letting his doubt of Scorpius’ hairdressing skills shine through, he summoned a brush for his son and a stool for himself to perch on.

Scorpius laughed excitedly and got started straight away, while Astoria watched from the side so she could get the best view of both of them. Draco spied her stifling a giggle out of the corner of his eye when Scorpius pulled too hard on a bit of his hair, or when a strand fell out and he shook it onto the floor with far more force than necessary. After a hard tug, Draco choked on a laugh when Scorpius squeaked out “sorry!” Finally, he finished up with the braid and tied a ribbon around it — announcing he was done with a “ta-da!”

“Looks lovely, Scorpius,” Astoria praised, handing Draco one of her hand-mirrors and pressing a kiss to Scorpius’ crown. Peering in the mirror, Draco noticed the braid was lumpy, and bits stuck out all over the place. It was terribly messy and his father would have a fit if he knew Draco was going out in public like that. Perfect, in all the ways that mattered.

“I love it, Scorp,” he said, and scooped his son up in a bone-crushing hug.

Later, at an upper-class wizarding restaurant owned by one of his mother’s friends, Mother eyed his hair with a pointed look but said nothing. Dinner, as usual, was a slightly awkward affair, as she asked politely after Astoria and Scorpius, while managing to slip in the familiar scathing critiques about the way they were choosing to raise her grandson. Draco remarked that it didn’t turn out all that well for Father. Mother scalded him, to which Draco said he’d feel slightly more inclined to be civil with his father if he made the effort to see his family. Mother finished her meal, kissed him on the cheek, and promptly left.

Returning that night, Draco found Astoria and Scorpius asleep together on the couch, books stacked neatly on the side table alongside cups of tea and what looked like hot chocolate. Long forgotten, the fire had almost died out. Scorpius was curled up against Astoria, and her head rested on his, askew like they didn’t mean to fall asleep. Like they’d stayed up waiting for him. His heart swelled.

Gently, Draco padded over to the couch in his socks and placed a kiss on Astoria’s head.

“Draco?” she whispered sleepily. “How was…”

“Hush, love, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Mmf. Okay.”

Draco carefully unwound his son from the grip he had on his mother and picked him up, holding him tightly against his chest. Honestly, Draco surprised himself with his strength sometimes. Scorpius was a _tiny_ boy anyways, but carrying a ten year old took effort to someone in their mid thirties whose workout mainly consisted of storming through the Ministry of Magic on occasion and wandering the gardens at the Manor.

Making his way to Scorpius’ room, the boy in his arms began to stir. His son lifted up his blonde head to peer at Draco through lidded eyes. _Adorable,_ he thought, _how did I help make something so adorable?_

“Dad..?” Scorpius mumbled, one fist rubbing his eye.

“Hey, Scorp, you alright?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius yawned. “Mum ‘n’ I wanted to wait up for you, but we fell asleep. Mum did first, and I tried to wait up for you, but, m’tired.”

They arrived at the door to Scorpius’ room — just across the hall from his and Astoria’s — and Draco slipped in quietly. The room was decorated in a deep blue colour, with numerous paintings of scenes from Scorpius’ favourite books hanging on the walls. Bookshelves lined the wall across from the large, four-poster bed with silver covers, and a nightlight in the shape of a dragon was perched on the bedside table. He knew from personal ~~trauma~~ experience that there was a life sized poster of Potter stuck to the inside of his son’s spruce-wood wardrobe, and, well, the less said about that the better.

“That was sweet of you,” Draco said, tucking his son into bed. “But it is _well_ past bedtime for both of you.”

Scorpius grinned tiredly up at him. “I wanted to tell you that I finished the book Auntie Daphne bought me.”

His little boy was growing up far too fast. It seemed only yesterday he said his first word, and now he got through novels like they were nothing. _Merlin_ , that made him sound old. Astoria moaned at him for making her feel old, too, when he harped on about ‘before Scorpius was born…’ but he couldn’t seem to help himself some days.

“You can talk to me about it tomorrow, alright?” Scorpius nodded. Tenderly, Draco smoothed his hand over Scorpius’ hair. “Sweet dreams.”

“G’night, Dad, love you.”

Draco’s heart stuttered in his chest despite the fact Scorpius _always_ told him that when he tucked him into bed. He replied the same way that he always did. “I love you most.”

Scorpius was asleep almost instantly, and Draco slowly backed out of his room and along to the drawing room. Astoria was still asleep, curled up tightly on the couch. He bent down to pick her up bridal style, his back cracking in protest, and frowned. Even after her pregnancy, she was a lot thinner than she used to be, before she had Scorpius; Draco knew that, but she was almost the same weight as their son. It was worrying and upsetting and utterly _terrifying_ to watch as Astoria got weaker right in front of him, seemingly wasting away, without there being anything he could do about it.

If Draco cried carrying Astoria back to their bedroom, there was no one around to see it but him.

⁎⁺˳✧༚

Draco knew it was coming.

Astoria had been bedridden for months, and her condition was only getting worse. Her skin had lost most of it’s colour; she was as thin as ever, fragile as though she was crafted from paper; and her eyes carried only a dull glow. The Healers told Astoria, Draco at her bedside, that anything they could do would just be offsetting the inevitable. Drawing it out. _Extending her suffering_ went unsaid, but it was evident from the tension in the room that they were all thinking it. Draco thanked the Healers, leading them from their room, and summoned a house elf to escort them out.

Taking deep breaths, Draco rested his forehead against the cold door and closed his eyes in an attempt to school his emotions.

“Draco…”

“You don’t deserve any of this,” he ground out, angry tears spilling from his eyes. “It’s not _fair._ ”

“Does anyone? Is anything?”

Draco turned to look at her. She smiled feebly, a smile that said she’d already accepted that a long life wasn’t for her, had a long time ago. But it just wasn’t _fair_ that she had to. He wanted to say that there were plenty of people who deserved to suffer more than her, plenty of instances when life was _more_ than fair to others, so why couldn’t it give _her_ more? It wouldn’t make a difference in the slightest, but it drove him mad that it was all dumped on her when she hadn’t been anything but _kind_ and _loving_ and _good_. If anyone deserved to suffer in the way she has, it was him. He’d never dare let her know he felt that way, but if he could exchange places with his wife, he’d do it in a heartbeat. In a few short strides, Draco reached her bedside and kneeled next to her, talking her hand in his.

"I don't want to lose you, Astoria," he told her, her limp hand gripped so tightly in his that his knuckles turned white.

“And I don’t want to leave you, _or_ Scorpius. The thought of the two of you alone makes my heart ache, Draco. Promise me you’ll never let him forget how much I love him.” She paused. “And promise me you’ll never forget how much I love you.” 

“Astoria,” Draco choked out, cupping her cheek with his hand. “I would never. I promise.”

Astoria nodded and took a shaky breath in.

“He’ll be starting third year soon. It’s hard to imagine that two years ago we were getting ready for his first year.” She laughed; a pitiful thing that ended in a pathetic, rattling cough. Draco moved a hand to rub soothing circles on her back, and she gave him a grateful smile, swallowing harshly. “He was so excited.”

And he had been, Draco recalled. All Scorpius could talk about since he had first heard of Hogwarts was how happy he was that he’d be going — “I can’t wait to meet so many people!”; that he hoped nothing would happen to it that would stop him from attending — “Dad, I think my favourite class will be Charms. It sounds _so_ cool.”; and that he was sure he’d have best friends far better than _Flurry_ , who would know how to play gobstones properly and could do fun things with Scorpius. Instead, children bullied him and called him names, mocked his magical ability and he had only one person to call a friend. That wasn’t what he wanted for his little boy, when he sought to raise him to be kind, and yet...

“Time flies,” said Draco, after a while.

“It does,” replied Astoria. “I’m glad I was there.”

Draco, at first, wasn’t sure if he could agree. Astoria had gotten terribly sick afterwards, and Draco blamed himself for letting her go to King’s Cross with him and Scorpius. For a long, terrifying month he was worried Astoria wouldn’t pull through at all. She hadn’t been outside the Manor estate much since then, Draco was too worried of her getting ill again. Now, however, seeing the wistful look in her eyes, he knew she thought it all worth it; a chance to see their son start a new chapter of his life, even if she wouldn’t be around to see him finish it.

Astoria hesitated for a moment, as if deciding if she really wanted to say what was going on in her mind. When she did, she spoke slowly, as if cautious of his reaction. "Part of why I wanted to have Scorpius, Draco, is so you'd have someone when I was gone."

Draco froze, feeling his throat rapidly tightening with emotion. "Astoria, you–"

"I knew that– that you’d be lonely. I always knew I couldn’t be with you your whole life, and so, I thought that you’d take comfort from having a little one around. That you could look at them, and see a part of me, and remember the happy times we spent together, just the three of us. Our little family. But that wasn’t everything, you know I’ve always wanted a child. Scorpius was never _just_ an heir or a companion, he was _ours_. For _us,_ remember?"

"You’ve gone through so much pain," he whispered, and she squeezed his hand.

"And I don't regret it for a moment.” Astoria’s eyes were blazing with sincerity. ”Neither should you.”

His chest constricted painfully. Draco shook his head. “I couldn’t, not now, not ever. Scorpius is one of the best things to happen to me. I could never regret him.”

Astoria smiled, reaching out to trace his jaw, rough with stubble. Draco had neglected shaving for a while, with much more important things to worry about than the state of his facial hair. He’d grown accustomed to the spikey, shadowed features of his face and barely noticed they were there anymore. Astoria’s cool fingers drew patterns around the rest of his face as though she was determined to engrave it into her subconscious; curving under his chin, grazing his cheeks, swooping around his tired eyes, drawing a line down his nose and settling on his chewed lips. All the while she stared at him as though he’d hung the stars in the sky. He’d imagine he had a similar expression on his own face.

 _Losing her was going to destroy him,_ he thought.

Astoria diverted her gaze, retracting her hand. “Is Scorpius still in the library?”

“The last I checked, yes. I told him to wait there while the Healers were visiting. I expect he’ll have read the whole Malfoy family collection by now,” he joked, though his heart wasn’t in it.

”Bookworm, just like his father,” Astoria’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, one side quirking into a half-smile. “Go and get him, would you, love? I’d like to speak to him. Before.”

Yes. _Before._

“Of course. Anything.”

Draco moved to stand, but Astoria grabbed his wrist; tears were welling up in her eyes and her brows were scrunched together. He didn’t think it was possible for his heart to be crushed so irreparably.

“What’s the matter, love?” It felt like a stupid question to ask in the scope of things, for _everything_ was ‘the matter’, yet he asked it anyway, as steadily as he could.

“I’m scared,” she said, in a voice that sounded like that of a terrified child waking from a nightmare.

Oh, Merlin.

Astoria had never told him that before. She was always the one who comforted him when he got upset, always telling him it was just how it was, that it would be alright. She’d never shown she was _really_ scared before, it was all complaisance and reassurance. The last of his composure was slipping away from him as Astoria looked at him with her sad, fearful, eyes, and it was like the ground had disappeared from beneath his feet.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, anything that would make her hurt less, but nothing came out. 

Astoria sniffled. “I’m scared to die, Draco. I’ve always known that I would, and I’m not– It’s just–“

Draco did the only thing he could think of: he sat down and wrapped Astoria in his arms, holding on tight.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” She sounded so dreadfully defeated. “Do you think it hurts? Dying?”

Draco frowned, trying to think of something his parents had told him about death when he was younger. At the time, he’d thought nothing of it, just adults taking the easy way out to try and explain someone passing on to their young children. He cleared his throat and cuddled her in closer. “I don’t know, Astoria,” he started, voice laced with tremors. “Mother once said to me that dying was when Death came to collect someone who’d finished their role in this life, to start a new one in another. That dying was more of a transition, a pathway to something new.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” she whispered. “It feels even more like I’m leaving you alone. I like my role here, with you, and Scorpius.”

“So do I,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I asked Mother about that. What if someone’s role _isn’t_ done? And Death comes too quickly? She told me not to worry, that Death always came at the right time, even if it didn’t seem like it. And that loved ones would be reunited by Death, when their roles were fulfilled.”

“Mmm.” Astoria reached out to tug at the loose braid hanging over Draco’s shoulder. “Then I hope I won’t see you for a long time. Though the selfish part of me disagrees, of course.”

Draco smiled. “As does mine.”

Astoria took in a shaking breath. “How old were you when she told you that?”

“Twelve,” Draco said. Astoria snorted and he smiled. “My grandfather Cygnus had just died and Mother was rather upset about it. I think she told me that story to make herself feel better, more than me, we didn’t see him much and so I barely missed him.”

“Sad,” she mused. 

“I suppose.”

Silence settled over them for a while, and Draco busied himself with playing with Astoria’s hair. He’d miss these moments more than anything, small spots of domestic bliss where they just enjoyed each other's company, not needing to say anything because they understood all there was to understand about the other, knew everything that mattered and all the things that didn’t.

“My father said it’s like falling asleep.”

Draco looked down at Astoria, who was gazing up at him with glistening almond eyes. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would. I hope it’s a bit of both. I’ll meet Death and annoy him by talking about how much I love you and Scorpius.”

Draco laughed, shaking his head at her. “I’ll go and fetch him.”

Scorpius followed Draco along the hall with resignation, and smiled weakly before slipping through the door to their room. Draco didn’t follow. Astoria hadn’t asked, but he knew she wanted privacy.

He turned to go. Maybe he’d occupy himself in his study for a while, it was only a few doors down, and if Astoria needed him Scorpius knew where to find him. Perhaps he’d get some paperwork done, look over new restoration work on the Manor, or research more into the old Alchemical methods he’d been studying. However, his feet felt rooted to the ground.

Try as he might, Draco couldn’t bring himself to leave. He waited outside by the door, ear pressed against the wood, listening in on their conversation. He knew he shouldn't intrude on his son's last private moments with his mother, but he desperately wanted to treasure each syllable of every word she said.

Draco wasn’t ready to let go, and he didn’t know if he ever would be.

"I want you to take care of your father when I'm gone, my angel," he heard her say. 

“Of course, Mum. We’ll take care of each other,” his son replied, earnest and loving and kind and _Astoria_.

A fresh wave of sorrow flooded through him, more tears threatening to spill, and he slid down the wall to bury his spinning head into his hands.

That night, the three of them fell asleep together in Draco and Astoria’s king-sized bed, just like they would do after Scorpius’ nightmares when he was little. There was no awkwardness, only love and peace and when Draco charmed the lights off in their room, Astoria whispered “My shining stars. I love you both so very much,” and was soon fast asleep.

Draco lay awake for a long while, staring at his wife and son together, watching the gentle rise and fall of their chests. He linked his fingers through Astoria’s, careful not to disturb her, and slipped into a restless slumber.

When he woke the next morning, Astoria’s hand was cold in his own, and her chest still.

Astoria’s funeral was held in mid-October, with brown and orange and yellow leaves fluttering over her grave, and birds flying above the small gathering of people who’d come to mourn. Earlier that morning, Scorpius had asked if he could style his father’s hair, and Draco broke down in tears. Scorpius had left then, looking more devastated than he had in weeks, to check if his friend had arrived, and Draco pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail that did no favours for his hairline. By the time the actual service began, he had shed so many tears he wasn’t sure if he could find it in himself to cry any more. Yet, as the first words of Astoria’s eulogy were said, the tears started up again. Draco cried and cried and cried until he had to be held up by his son, who wrapped his thin arms around his waist and dampened Draco’s best winter coat — Astoria bought him it one Christmas — with tears. The Potter boy was there, standing off at a distance; he never knew Astoria, how wonderful she was, he never had the chance, despite Scorpius always talking about inviting him over, and Astoria telling him he sounded lovely, with pointed looks directed at Draco meaning _‘don’t say anything’_ , and he never did, because his son was happy and that was all that mattered.

“I miss her so much, Dad,” Scorpius cried against his chest, and Draco tightened his hold on him, one hand smoothing down his hair. His heart twisted at the anguish in his son’s voice, and wished he had the power to stop him hurting.

Scorpius didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t fair.

_Does anyone? Is anything?_

“Me too, Scorp. Me too.”

⁎⁺˳✧༚

_December, 2020_

Draco was in the middle of setting up lunch in the new year with Ginny when he was almost bowled over by a blonde blur all wrapped up in winter clothes. He managed to right himself before he fell over on Platform 9¾ in front of _everybody_ — everybody being Potters 1, 2, 3 and 4, Granger, and the rest of the Weasley clan — and wrapped his son in a hug.

“You have _got_ to stop doing that, Scorpius,” he complained, grasping his son by the shoulders and pushing him back so he could look at him eye to eye. Because he was that tall, now, that Draco no longer looked down on him. Merlin’s beard.

“What, hugging you?” His son grinned up at him from under his woolen black bobble hat, one that Draco had sent him via owl post for his birthday with a matching set of gloves. The hat brought out the pale features on his son’s face, and Draco thought he looked simply adorable with his pointed nose all red from the cold. 

“Obviously,” Draco said, bringing Scorpius in close again.

Scorpius said his goodbyes to Mini-Potter, fawned over Potter a little, smiled awkwardly at Mini-Granger and had a brief debate with Granger over some historical law all in the time that it took Ginny to _coerce_ Draco into going out for a meal with ‘ _Harry’, ‘Albus’_ and Scorpius over the holidays. Bloody journalists. Luckily, Scorpius and Albus came over, baggage in tow, before she could get another lunch meet up out of him.

The two of them apparated to the Manor and dodged the peacocks that immediately ran for Scorpius, who was out of breath from giggling when they finally got inside. Draco let the houselves fuss over Scorpius for a moment while he took off his own coat and shoes, before enveloping him in another hug.

“Woah, Dad,” Scorpius laughed. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, everything’s fine. I just– I missed you, Scorp, that’s all.” He tightened his arms.

“I missed you too, but you aren’t normally this, well, _huggy_ ,” Scorpius said, but buried his face in Draco’s neck anyway. 

Draco chuckled and, after a little longer, pulled away and started to walk, gesturing for Scorpius to follow him. “There is something I wanted to talk to you about, though.”

“Oh. Okay,” he replied. He sounded worried yet curious at the same time, so Draco just smiled and continued walking.

The fire was burning brightly in the drawing room, emanating a comfortable amount of heat that was just perfect for winter. Draco took off his outer robes and draped them across the back of the sofa, leaving him only in the combination of a long-sleeved cream shirt and a pair of tailored black trousers he always wore. Scorpius hovered awkwardly, before gingerly sitting down next to his father. He toyed with the ends of his knitted jumper, a nervous habit, so Draco summoned his secret weapon.

Scorpius gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Hot chocolate!” He grasped the mug from where it was floating in front of him, and, careful not to spill any on the sofa, took a sip.

Draco watched, using his own mug to warm his hands, as his son mentally deliberated whether the drink was up to his standard or not. “So?”

Scorpius hummed, before seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Tastes just like–” He paused, and Draco, knowing what he wanted to say already, nodded in encouragement. Scorpius smiled. “Tastes just like Mum’s.”

“I tried my best,” Draco said, taking a sip of his own. Astoria had always insisted on making her hot chocolates for Scorpius by hand, and, despite Draco’s reservations about giving a literal mug of chocolate to an infant before bed, seemed to be one of the few things that could help him get to sleep again if his nightmares had been really bad. Their habit of drinking it stuck around, and even in her last days Draco would see the two of them making hot chocolate together with help from the elves. As far as Draco knew, Scorpius hadn’t had it since Astoria had passed.

His son looked at him with wide eyes. “ _You_ made it? By yourself?”

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. “I’m good at potions; making hot chocolate has the same principle. I’m not totally useless in the kitchen, you know.”

Scorpius mirrored his expression, disbelief etched in his features.

“Okay, well, maybe salads and drinks are the extent of my culinary abilities.” Scorpius’ eyebrow appeared to rise higher on his face, if that was even possible. “But I only used magic to place a stasis charm on the mugs while I went to collect you, I promise.”

“That’ll be why it’s so much like Mum’s,” Scorpius said, looking down into his mug.

“ _Some things are better without magic._ ” They both quoted at the same time, paused, then smiled.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, actually.”

“What, magic?”

“No, Scorpius, your mother.”

“Oh.”

Gently, Draco placed his mug down on the coffee table, before shuffling along the sofa and taking Scorpius’ from his hands. Scorpius refused to meet his eye, picking at his jumper again.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Scorpius beat him to it. “We never talk about Mum,” he said in a small voice.

“I know, Scorp,” he said, reaching out to pause his son’s fidgeting and grasping his hand. Draco tried to keep a handle on his emotions by breathing deeply, but he could already feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. “I know, and I want to apologise for that.”

Scorpius’ brow furrowed and he looked up. “What do you mean?”

Last night, Draco had spent hours thinking about what he wanted to say to Scorpius when he got back, and he practiced talking to himself in the mirror like he did as a young boy practicing what he’d say to his father’s friends when they came around for dinner. _Be clear and concise, Draco,_ his parents would say, _don’t stumble, now, and just smile politely, that’s what’s proper to do when you want to get a point across._ What a load of bollocks, he thought, staring into the watery grey of his son’s eyes. And so, Draco opened his mouth and let the words flow.

“It’s been tough, without your mother. For me. You. Both of us. I don’t think I’ve spoken much about her since her funeral, and even then I didn’t do much but cry. I haven’t looked at our wedding photos, or at any of her _clothes_ , or the books she liked to read. None of it. You know, Scorpius, you’re practically the only thing of hers that I do look at, because you’re _ours._ She always said you were like a mini-me, yet, when I look at you, all I can see is her. You have her smile, the shape of her eyes, the waviness to your hair and her kind, beautiful soul. And, I feel like, there’s this big _block_ in our relationship that we– that _I_ have just been ignoring, and it isn’t doing us any good acting like nothing’s changed or that it’ll just go away.” His tears were flowing freely now, and he felt Scorpius squeeze his hand, something that only made him cry more. “We should talk about her more, Scorpius, because I miss her dreadfully and I know you do too. She’ll always be with us, watching over us until we get to see her again. And– and bottling up what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, doesn’t do any good. It just makes it all hurt more when you can’t keep it in anymore. I want you to be able to talk to me, Scorpius, because I love you so much and you deserve only the best.”

His voice broke on the last word, but it was alright because it was then that Scorpius let go of his hands and held him tight against his chest, and he felt so utterly _stupid_ because this wasn’t how it was meant to go at all. He should be the one holding Scorpius and telling him that it would be okay, that it was alright to cry, that he could talk to him, not the other way around.

“I don’t know what to say but thank you, Dad.” Scorpius was crying now too, Draco could tell from his voice. “I told Mum we would rely on each other. She loved us so much, didn’t she?”

“Of course,” Draco said, muffled by the jumper in his face. “That was– She told me to never let us forget how much she loved us, and I said I never could.”

“One thing she told me was that you were a better man than I could see, sometimes. And I think she was right.”

Draco raised his head to look at his son again. “She really said that of me?”

Scorpius laughed wetly. “That’s what the other-you said too.”

“In the ‘Mouldy-Voldy’ timeline?” Draco asked, drawing an arm around Scorpius and pulling him against his shoulder.

Scorpius nodded. “Yes, although he was– he _wasn’t_ a better man. That you, I mean. I don’t know what happened, but it must’ve been something to do with Voldemort, you know. Having a crazy megalomaniac ruling the world would probably do that to most people, but, well, I told you that other-you was horrid, right?”

Draco remembered; after Scorpius and Mini-Potter had come back from the world in which Voldemort ruled, Scorpius’ rundown had included himself as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. “You said I was ‘like, _really,_ mean, Dad, worse than you at Hogwarts’, I believe.”

A slightly sheepish smile spread across his son’s face. “I wasn’t wrong, though. He was doing all sorts of terrible things and I got so mad that I–” The smile fell from his face. “I brought up Mum, and I never do that when we argue, but then you’d never do something like _that_ with Muggleborns and Muggles, and then you– he– I know _you_ wouldn’t ever do it but, he wasn’t you and– he _hurt_ me, Dad, and I was so scared that that was who I’d have to live with.”

Draco felt a streak of anger firing up in him that he hadn’t felt since Scorpius had told him that the kids liked to write ‘Son of Voldemort’ on his Hogwarts trunk. He wasn’t one for anger, usually his cold and calm demeanor was enough to frighten anyone who dared ask him for comments about the whole time travelling situation, but _this?_ The fact that he might think it okay to hurt his son in another universe where Voldemort won made him eternally grateful for Potter, ~~again~~ for once.

“Dad?” Scorpius poked his side.

“If he still existed I would strangle him with my bare hands,” he whispered, pressing his son closer to his side. “Merlin knows I would never, _ever,_ hurt you, no matter how mad I may be. You know that, don’t you, Scorpius?”

“I know, Dad. Although I don’t really fancy seeing you put in Azkaban, so if you could refrain from sending yourself death threats...”

Draco snorted. “I’m not quite sure why anyone ever considered the notion of you not being mine.”

“Harry Potter did, in the first alternate reality,” Scorpius remarked. “Got the DMLE to investigate, too.”

“He did _what_? I’ll–”

“You duelled him in his own kitchen, though, when you found out.”

_Oh._

“Well, that was alright then.” After a beat, “Did I win?”

“I think it was a draw. Though, according to you, you hit him off the table a couple of times.”

Draco hummed in poorly-hid delight. Scorpius laughed and cuddled in closer.

“Our hot chocolates will be cold by now,” Scorpius noted after a while.

“Ah well, I can always make more. Besides, I have another surprise for you.” Draco drew out his wand and called “ _Accio_ present!”

“Present? You haven’t gotten one of those Muggle televisions, have you? We learned about them in Muggle Studies last week, Muggles watch Christmas films while drinking hot chocolate. And, apparently the Queen does this big speech thing on Christmas Day, and _millions_ of Muggles watch it!”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think any Muggle _eck-lit-ri-city_ would work in the Manor.” A small package, wrapped in golden paper detailed with animated crups playing in the snow, flew onto Draco’s lap. “I was saving this one for Christmas Eve, but I’d like you to have it now.”

Scorpius, shifting slightly so to have a better position in which to unwrap his gift, was entranced by the moving crups, and Draco took the time to mentally pat himself on the back for taking the time to charm it himself. Carefully, Scorpius peeled the spellotape from the wrapping, intent on preserving it no doubt, to reveal a black box with the initials ‘S.H.M.’ written in gold on the top. At Draco’s nod, Scorpius opened up the box and gasped. “A locket?”

Draco bit his lip. “Open it.”

Scorpius removed the locket from it’s box, and the gold glistened in the light of the fire. The initials were carved into the metal of the locket, as well as the box, and they had a glow similar to that of pixie dust. Draco’d spelled them on by hand. A tiny book served as the clasp on the main body of the locket, and Scorpius clicked it open without reservation.

“Dad…” Scorpius mumbled, staring at the picture inside the locket. It was one of the only professional Wizarding photos Draco and Astoria had gotten taken. Shortly after Scorpius’ birth, Astoria had brought the idea up to him and he’d thought it brilliant. A reminder, during the long, sleepless nights, of how happy they could be with _their_ son. Draco had owled his mother for a recommendation, and the following day Astoria had him helping her into one of her long, flowing gowns while the photographer set up his equipment. Taken amongst his mother’s rose garden in winter, it set the perfect Christmas picture; snow was falling all around them, and Astoria held baby Scorpius as she and Draco gazed at each other, smiled into a quick kiss, then turned to meet the camera. The scene continued on a loop, and Scorpius stared transfixed before looking up at Draco again.

“The other half of the locket has the Scorpius constellation engraved on it,” he noted, and Scorpius looked down again. “For our little star.”

“Merlin, Dad, I don’t know what to say,” he choked out. Draco reached out to brush a stray tear from his cheek. “Help me put it on, please?”

Draco obliged, sitting up so he could fasten the locket. It rested just besides Scorpius’ heart, and he knew instantly that Astoria would love it.

“Thank you, so much. This is the best present ever. Who needs a Muggle television?”

Draco laughed, and let himself be pulled into another hug. “Now who’s huggy?”

“Guilty as charged,” Scorpius murmured. One of his hands drifted to the ponytail Draco had his hair in, and he heard Scorpius let out a contemplative hum. “Can I..?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The next half an hour was spent with Scorpius braiding Draco’s hair and adding stupid Christmas decorations to it as he went, claiming that he wanted to ‘make him look like Rapunzel in the film Tangled’, the meaning of that completely lost on him. A fluffy, red and white ‘scrunchie’ was used to tie off the end of the braid, and despite how stupid Draco thought he must look, with baubles trailing down his back, he hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

With a sigh, the two of them flopped down onto the sofa that Draco charmed to make more like a bed — sod the velvet — and called for the house elves to bring them what they needed to make some hot chocolate. They even put some tiny marshmallows in the mug, a food Draco didn’t even think he had in the Manor.

Looking over at his son — wearing the locket open, showing the picture of the three of them — sipping on his drink with the fire roaring in the background, he thought ‘ _this is family.’_

“Merry Christmas, Scorpius.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Find me on twitter/tumblr at @balletquartet
> 
> _Do not stand at my grave and weep  
>  I am not there. I do not sleep.  
> I am a thousand winds that blow.  
> I am the diamond glints on snow.  
> I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  
> I am the gentle autumn rain.  
> When you awaken in the morning's hush  
> I am the swift uplifting rush  
> Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
> I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
> Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
> I am not there. I did not die. ___


End file.
